


Baby

by asarcasticwitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Declarations Of Love, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Fluff without Plot, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mates, Oblivious Derek Hale, POV Third Person, Panic, Stiles Stilinski is Eighteen Years Old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27946130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/pseuds/asarcasticwitch
Summary: Derek breathes out a resounding sigh, his hand reaching out to rest on a nearby tree, the rough bark biting into his palm as he leans, taking a moment to ground himself.He's so fucked.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 26
Kudos: 358





	Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [resilientreyna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resilientreyna/gifts).



> This is a late Christmas present for a good friend of mine. 
> 
> I honestly have no clue what it's supposed to be, and to be honest, it'll probably get edited a lot when I'm in a better headspace, but for now, here ya go. I'm still shocked I wrote fluff without smut—or even a reference to smut—but hey ho, it's just something short and semi-sweet for my boo.
> 
> Grammarly is my beta, so expect mistakes and if there ain't any, then consider that a Christmas miracle.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Derek hasn't been sleeping. He's lain awake the past few nights, mind wandering and obsessing over trivial things that somehow only demand his full attention in the wee hours of the morning.

That's where he's laying the blame for his momentary lapse in brain function.

Exhaustion.

The pack is congregating at the Loft, as they usually do every Friday night. Something Lydia said about bonding, how it'd be good for Derek with his new Alpha status—well, new _est_ —to get closer to his pack, to make them stronger as a whole. Everyone agreed. Whether that's their fear of the little red-head or because they actually enjoy eating Derek out of house and home while watching movies for several hours every Friday, he's not sure, but either way, they’re here...

In his den. Raiding his cupboards. Making a mess.

Unfortunately for the brooding reputation he’s trying to uphold, Derek's wolf loves it, relishes in the close contact with pack. He internally curses Lydia for being so damn smart. He'll never admit out loud that having the lingering scent of pack—and family—spreading throughout his domain is reducing his sleep-deprived headache, but it is.

_Damn it._

That’s another thing he blames his unwitting senior moment on. The warm fuzzy feelings he's being surrounded in, his brain turning to mush as he looks upon all the snuggling couples sprawled across his several couches. Warmth, happiness, and contentment enveloping him in a tight embrace, something he loathes to admit is making his heart swell in his chest, lips twitching with the ghost of something that could be classed as a smile.

Stiles asked him for a drink, an innocent request—which is laughable considering the boy is anything but. Derek supplied the usual eye roll, huffing exaggeratedly as he stomped off to the fridge. He catches himself grumbling under his breath the whole walk back, trying and failing to figure out when exactly he started giving in to the boys every whim, surrendering under the wide Bambi eyes, folding like a flimsy, plastic deck chair every time lush fluttering lashes and a divine plump pout request a favor.

Distracted, Derek passes the teen his can of soda, mind wandering to dark and dangerous places. "Here you go, baby."

The room falls silent.

If there had been a record player somewhere in the near vicinity, Derek’s confident now would be the time it’d scratch. All eyes snap towards him, every brow in the room risen towards a hairline, lips opening and closing as if fish gulping underwater.

The air is suddenly thick around him, hot and claggy against his skin. The movie playing in the background drowned out by the blood rushing between his ears; the eerie soundtrack akin to a funeral march, the absurdity of it utterly hysterical, had Derek the mental capacity to think on it.

Every heartbeat becomes a faint hum as if everyone has abruptly stopped breathing.

Derek certainly has.

Stiles' mouth gapes, eyes opening comically wide as his gaze flicks between the can still held in mid-air between both their hands and back up to Derek's face.

If ever there was a time the wolf wished for some sort of supernatural disaster to happen, that time would be now.

Where the fuck are the Dread Doctors when you need them?

"Dude, did you just call Stiles-"

"Scottie, not now, man," Stiles jerks out of his own momentary malfunction to interrupt his friend, shaking his head in warning.

Derek vaguely makes out a faint snort from the darkest corner of the room, Peter preferring to lurk in the shadows rather than appear to be joining them. "About time."

If Derek were able to pay attention to anything other than his own inner turmoil, he'd have glared at his infuriatingly smug uncle, maybe even launched across the room at him.

It’s been too long since the man's last death.

"Shut it, Peter," Stiles grits through his teeth, eyes hard and unrelenting as he glowers murderously at the man.

Derek doesn’t stay long enough to hear Peter’s retort; instead, he does the only thing he has enough brainpower in the moment to do; he turns on his heel and leaves.

He takes the stairs four at a time, bounding towards the apartment's entrance, suddenly craving the fresh air upon his burning face. As soon as he bursts through the metal door, he consumes every ounce of cool breeze around him, but it’s not enough; he still feels as if he’s suffocating, drowning in a well of panic that threatens to buckle his legs from under him.

Distantly, he makes out the sound of someone calling his name, so without further contemplation, he runs.

The wind whips through his hair; feet, shins, and thighs burning as he bolts through the trees, not stopping until his lungs are close to collapse; until he’s far enough away that he’s sure no-one will find him.

Up until now, he's managed to keep his attraction under wraps, showing no indication that over the years his feelings have gone from irritation of the boy’s presence to his heart skipping a beat at the very mention of his name.

Stiles has grown, not just physically but mentally too. Truth be told, so has Derek. With everything Beacon Hills has thrown at them since that first night in the woods all those years ago, they've both changed. Stiles might still be a little hyperactive and so fucking annoying it makes Derek want to perforate his own eardrums half the time, but he's also proved sickeningly brave and loyal.

He was always intelligent; Derek never once doubted that, but he underestimated back then just how vital the clumsy, breakable human is to the pack.

Derek's grown accustomed to the inane chatter that falls out the teen's mouth, finding it somewhat endearing rather than a downright flaw. After the last time Stiles ran into danger headfirst, saving Derek's life among many of the others, it was as if a switch had been flicked. Stiles stood above him, the moonlight casting a faint glow across his soft pale skin, and for the first time, Derek was awestruck. It took him several moments to realize the boy was speaking, hand outstretched to help him to his feet, too busy admiring every ethereal detail he'd somehow overlooked before to notice the help.

From that day on, he subconsciously honed in on every little thing Stiles did, his wolf latching onto anything it deemed a strong trait.

Traits that proved him a worthy mate.

Derek tried his best to tamper down those thoughts; of course, Stiles would be seen as a worthy life partner; the boy is everything a wolf could ever want. He's kind, compassionate, brutal, enduring, clever, adapting, absolutely fucking stunning in every aspect. He’s completely free of any supernatural enhancements, no heightened speed, agility, or strength; if anything, he’s the complete opposite, and yet, it baffles Derek each and every day how the boy still manages to be the bravest and strongest of them all. 

He's perfect.

But that doesn’t matter, for while Derek has been quietly battling with his unrequited love for the boy, Stiles has never once shown any indication of returning the affection.

Sure, he constantly smells of low-grade arousal, but he puts that down to teenage hormones. Derek also knows what he looks like; he's not blind, but not even once has Stiles ever smelt of contentment or anything besides lust when alone with Derek. Not that they've been without the rest of the pack for a while, but Derek would’ve known; Stiles is about as subtle as a brick; it would’ve been clear as day if he shared those feelings, the feelings that are slowly consuming Derek to the point of delirium.

_Wouldn't it?_

Derek breathes out a resounding sigh, his hand reaching out to rest on a nearby tree, the rough bark biting into his palm as he leans, taking a moment to ground himself.

He's so fucked.

~

Dawn is breaking by the time he wanders back to the Loft. He knows he can’t hide forever; as much as he wants to live the remainder of his life in a cave somewhere, he knows it’s not very _adult_ of him. He has a pack; he has responsibilities, he’d never dream of leaving them behind, even if, in this moment, he feels he may just die of embarrassment.

He’ll hack the teasing that’s bound to follow for the next few days, ‘cause he knows they’ll eventually get over it. One day it’ll be a distant memory, something they can all laugh about. He may even be able to look Stiles in the eyes again at some point.

He’s not counting on it.

With a sigh loud enough to echo through the entire building, he slides open the heavy metal door, the sound heaving him out of his self-pitying. 

That's when it hits him, the sweet sickly scent of orange blossoms and vanilla.

_Stiles._

The boy waited for him?

"Hey, Der," Stiles offers sheepishly, stumbling gracelessly around the corner, limbs flailing inelegantly. His eyes appear as tired as Derek feels, hair in disarray as if he’s been tugging the strands, fingers flexing by his side in a nervous tic. "You okay?"

Derek wants to laugh; the boy hasn’t looked this drained since the nogitsune, and he’s still more worried about Derek’s wellbeing than his own. It makes his heart clench with guilt—as if he needed more proof that the human is the epitome of virtue. 

"Fine." He pushes the industrial roller door closed behind him, hand lingering on the cool metal a little too long, head hanging low as he prays for courage. “Why are you still here, Stiles?”

"I wanted to make sure you were okay?” The boy sounds unsure, as if he’s seriously miscalculated the situation. “You just sorta ran out."

He wants to say something, _anything,_ but he just... can't. 

Stiles sighs dejectedly behind him, the acidic scent of rejection making Derek whine in his throat. "I'll just go-"

"No," the word rushes from his mouth before he can think better of the idea, whirling around to face the boy, eyes pleading. "Stay?”

Stiles startles but nods softly, smiling sweetly up at him, moving awkwardly from foot to foot.

Derek runs his hand over the back of his neck, grimacing as it comes away damp. He opens his mouth to speak, for once begging for something other than silence, Stiles’ bright doe eyes boring into him with an intensity that has his throat closing up.

Stiles seems to notice his issue—of course, he does, perceptive as always—and decides to take pity on him. "You like me?"

For a split second, Derek is surprised by the bluntness, but then he remembers who he's talking to. Stiles never did have a brain to mouth filter, so how could he ever expect the teen to dance around such a delicate subject?

If he's honest, he's never been more grateful for it. 

Derek deflates, all the tension leaving him on a long exhale of breath. He sees no point in lying, not now, not with his mate several feet in front of him, smelling so deliciously intoxicating, his expression desperately hopeful.

For the first time, Derek notices that twinkle in the boy’s eyes, his pupils dilated, staring as if Derek is the one thing in all the world that matters to him. For the first time, Derek doesn’t feel like he’s imagining the skip in the boy’s heartbeat, the sweat on his brow, the way his tongue smooths over his bottom lip in something akin to anticipation.

For the first time, Derek may just have to admit out loud that he's been totally oblivious. 

Stiles is carefully stalking towards him, and Derek doesn’t realize he’s countering the movement until his back connects with the door. He lets out a small puff of air, a shiver running up his spine as Stiles leans in close, hands placed at either side of his shoulders, boxing him in. 

The human trails his nose up the side of Derek’s neck, the ghost of touch making his toes curl. His head tilts back instinctively to give the boy access, relishing in the pleased hum he gets for the action. “You going to answer me, Der?” His smooth, silky voice tickles across his heated skin, the words spoken against his collarbone, his jaw, his lips as Stiles moves to position his face level with his own, eyes alight with adoration and desire all at once. “Do you like me?”

Enthralled, Derek whispers his answer beseechingly against his mate’s mouth. "I _love_ you."

The smile that splits across Stiles’ face lights up the entire room; Derek can’t help mirroring the expression.

"Good," the teen murmurs softly. "'Cause I love you too." Derek gets only a moment to bask in the honest reciprocation before the boy’s beam turns teasing, a wicked smirk now firmly in its place. " _Baby_."

He has a grumbling retort on the tip of his tongue, but it’s halted by his mate's sinful lips connecting with his own. A deep rumble vibrates through his chest, Stiles’ smug grin intensifying at the sound. Derek doesn’t give the little shit a chance to comment, his fingers curling around the teen's neck, keeping him close as he licks into his mouth.

He nips and sucks, their tongues slick and seeking as they explore each other with an intense urgency that leaves Derek’s knees weak. He swallows every sound between them greedily into his lungs as he submerges in the taste, scent, and everything that is _Stiles._

Whatever was to blame for his earlier lapse in proper brain function, with his mate's grounding weight pressed against him, his hungry mewls dancing along his tongue, he suddenly doesn’t care.

It got him everything he could ever want.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr at [asarcasticwitch](http://asarcasticwitch.tumblr.com) if you wanna come say hello. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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